


Counting Games

by tsukinofaerii



Category: Marvel 1610 - Fandom
Genre: F/M, LGBTQ, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukinofaerii/pseuds/tsukinofaerii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is sick of waiting to get better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Games

Steve was sick.

He's known it since he was a kid, kicking a ball around in the streets with Bucky. Not just in his body, where anyone could see it—ribs sticking out against his skin, lungs too small, heart too weak—but in his head. He knew it when they—he and Bucky and Gail—went swimming that one time, when it had been so hot and sticky that his clothes stuck to him like glue. They'd all peeled down to their underwear before hopping into the water, even Gail, and it had been harder not to stare at his buddy than at the girl. Even then, Bucky had muscles, from running errands and doing chores for money. They'd been wet with sweat and water, catching the sun in a way that had made Steve's mouth go dry. Bucky had splashed him and joked that he'd have to work harder if he wanted to look like that. He'd never said anything else about it, but Steve always imagined he could see something _knowing_ in his eyes.

Bucky'd been a good friend.

Later, there'd been Gail, and he'd learned to like soft skin and curves, to not think about hard muscles or stubble when he kissed her. He'd told her everything. He couldn't _not_ tell her. She deserved better, but Gail had understood. She'd just been happy that he loved her, even if it wasn't quite right. She loved him.

And then he'd found the Army. His mother had brought him up to be honest, so when the question came, he had been.

_Yes._

Steve had expected a rejection. He was sick, upstairs and down, of course they'd reject him. Who would want a Super Soldier like that? Instead, the scientists had been excited. He was the lowest of the low. If the process could cure him, it could do it for anyone. They said they could make him better. To fix him for Gail. So she wouldn't have the live with the shame of a husband who was more interested in his best friend than his wife.

Gail had never really forgiven him for that.

So Steve had gone through the process. Months of steroids and serums and training. Months away from home or anyone other than scientists and other tests subjects. And it had worked, mostly. He'd gotten taller, stronger. The muscles that had never developed when he was a kid _did_, and then some. Even his vision had gotten better.

It hadn't fixed his head. Not even a bit. But by then, the other subjects were out and he was the only one left. His country needed him.

_Maybe,_ he'd convinced himself, _maybe it's taking longer. A brain has to be harder than lungs._ He'd told himself so much, and so hard, that he even started to believe it a little. In that way, it wasn't lying when he'd made himself pass the tests they gave him, when he looked the doctors in the eye and told them that he was cured. Even though Gail had been angry with him, said he didn't need fixing, he saw the relief in her eyes when he told her that he was better.

Compared to all of that, the war had been easy. Too busy to be anything but tired, inside and out. He had a girl, so no one questioned him much when he didn't visit the skirts that followed army boys around. Captain America wasn't close to the troops, so there wasn't even that to risk his secret.

All the time, in the background, he counted down to some changing date when the cure really would take. _Next week,_ he'd think. _Or tomorrow. It'll be gone tomorrow._ Then tomorrow would turn into today, and he'd find a new day to count towards. At least, until the ice.

Now, Steve's three years out of it, out of his time and out of time. Tony Stark sits in the chair across the table, lips wrapped around the end of a pen like it's a piece of candy and his long fingers flipping through the papers spread out in front of him. God knows what they are, but Tony looks at them the way he does women, the way he does some men, with all his focus so sharp that they should catch fire. Bucky's gone. Gail will be gone soon, and might as well be for how often he sees her, and Tony's tongue is curling around the pen in a way that Steve can't stop staring at.

Steve's sick of counting.


End file.
